It took me years to write, will you take a look?

Everyone has a story to tell.

For those famous enough to get a publishing deal, writing one’s memoirs seems to be more popular than ever.  In the world of pop music, especially rock music of the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s, writing an autobiography, it seems, has become the latest rite of passage for many who thrived in that era.

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Readers who know me well are aware that, when it comes to books about rock music, I inhale them.   Reference books about the Billboard charts, in-depth examinations of specific genres or regions, biographies (authorized and unauthorized) of famous artists and producers — I love ’em all, soaking up interesting factoids and arcane album information for use in some future party conversation (or this blog).

But why the spike in rock ‘n roll memoirs from survivors of rock’s earlier decades?  Call me cynical, but I’m guessing many of these aging performing artists figure they better commit their tales to paper ASAP before their memories fail them or they keel over (God knows that’s been happening way too often lately).

These memoirs typically include at least one “tell-all” bombshell that will help sell copies, but the best ones offer truly insightful information and thoughtful opinions from some of the major (and minor) players in the rock music kingdom.  And if the reader is really lucky, the book might actually be well written.

Sadly, the bookshelves are littered with recent examples of what amount to “Dear Diary” ramblings — self-indulgent, immature, lamely crafted and in dire need of major editing or a total rewrite.  But the good news is they’re outnumbered by a few dozen really captivating memoirs written in intelligent prose, with a healthy mix of humor, humility, pathos, perspective and (you can’t avoid it in this business) ego.

Let’s face it, if you’re a popular music artist, let alone a rock and roll star, it’s assumed you likely have an outsized ego, an ego big enough to tell you your life is interesting enough, and important enough, that people are going to want to read all about it, from childhood through early struggles to fame and fortune, to maybe scandal, setbacks and rehab.  How literately you tell your story, it should be noted, makes all the difference between respect and ridicule in the end.

Speaking of ridiculous, these days we have young artists writing their memoirs who have barely turned 30.  I mean, Justin Bieber?  It’s laughable.  Best to wait until you’ve had a life long enough to write about.

No one can say for sure if some of these “autobiographies” were helped along by seasoned journalists serving as ghost writers, but I’m going to give the stars the benefit of the doubt and trust them if they said they wrote them themselves.  All I know is, if it’s an entertaining read, and I learn things I didn’t know before, and I’d recommend it to others, then it was worth my time and money.

Here are 20 rock ‘n’ roll memoirs I found to be worthy of your attention.  These are not biographies written by others, only autobiographies. Full confession:  I didn’t read ALL of EVERY book listed here.  In a few cases, I only skimmed them in preparation for this blog, and read a summary of reviews.  But my aim is to read them all someday.

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“Born to Run,” Bruce Springsteen, 2016

As a lyricist, Springsteen has written pungent, heartfelt lyrics both concise and wordy, capturing moments and emotions better than almost anyone.  To no one’s surprise, The Boss writes lucidly and with great precision in his memoirs about his long, slow journey from the dead-end Jersey Shore to the peaks of superstardom.  Despite the fact that he’s added another ten years of achievements since this book was first published, this book is a satisfyingly comprehensive look at one of rock’s finest composers and showmen.

“My Cross to Bear,” Gregg Allman, 2012

I’m not sure I should have expected anything else, but Allman’s book revealed him to be an incredibly selfish asshole for much of his life, and he admits as much.  There’s no denying his brilliance as a blues singer, keyboardist and songwriter, but holy smokes, he was horrible to every woman in his life, and self-destructive as hell.  Still, he writes about all this in candid, compelling fashion, and got it done five years before his death in 2017 at age 69.

“Boys in the Trees: A Memoir,” Carly Simon, 2016

Largely at arm’s length from the self-destructive lifestyle that damaged many of her contemporaries, Simon survived to tell a decidedly different story from most ’70s singer-songwriters.  She writes from a calm epicenter as a daughter/mother/wife more than as a Grammy-winning artist, and it’s not at all boring but, in fact, invigorating. I just read this one within the last year and don’t know why I put it off for so long. She has a fascinating story to tell.

“Not Dead Yet: The Memoir,” Phil Collins, 2016

What a treat!  The fact that Collins tells his long and winding story with such self-deprecating charm and humor lays waste to his unfair reputation as an egotistical jackass.  He even uses his book’s title to debunk the silly “Phil is dead” rumor that plagued him in the mid-2000s. His evolution from Genesis’s replacement drummer in 1970 to their new lead singer in 1976 to ubiquitous solo artist in the 1980s and back into the band’s final years in the 2000s is quite a tale. This might be the most entertaining read on this list.

“Life,” Keith Richards, 2011

Given Keef’s notoriety as rock’s drug poster boy over the years, pretty much nobody expected this to be even remotely as great as it turned out to be.  How could he remember much of anything, given all he’s ingested?  But recall he did, with considerable flair, and the result is one of the most praised rock autobiographies ever. And he has lived on for another 15 years since it was published. Go figure.

“Simple Dreams: A Musical Memoir,” Linda Ronstadt, 2013

One of the most impressive singing careers of the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s was cut short in heartbreaking fashion when, in 2011, Ronstadt was diagnosed with a degenerative disease which robbed her of, among other things, the ability to control her vocal cords. She turned her attention to writing “Simple Dreams,” a humbly philosophical memoir of her life, which included multiple hit albums and singles in the folk, country, rock, Big Band and Latino musical genres.

“Me,” Elton John, 2019

If you saw the “Rocketman” musical biopic released the same year, you may think you know all there is to know about the shy-boy-turned-superstar, but I assure you, you don’t. In “Me,” Elton John goes far deeper into his life and career, warts and all, offering his own candid observations on the early struggles, the fame, the conflicted sexuality, the excesses, the musical partnerships and his eventual rejuvenation as an elder statesman of rock.

“Long Train Runnin’: Our Story of The Doobie Brothers,” Tom Johnston and Pat Simmons, 2023

Here’s a novel approach to the autobiographical genre. As founders and primary songwriters, singers and guitarists of The Doobie Brothers, Johnston and Simmons collaborated on this memoir by taking turns telling their versions of the group’s compelling history in 26 chapters — before, during and after the arrival of Michael McDonald. It’s a delightful way to learn how little animosity there was between the various players as the band’s lineup shifted through the years.

“Joni Mitchell:  In Her Own Words,” as told to Malka Marom, 2014

In a different twist on autobiographical literature, Mitchell teamed up with long-time confidante/journalist Malka Marom on three occasions (1973, 1979, 2012) to do lengthy, detailed taped interviews, which have been transcribed in Q&A format, giving readers a great deal of insight into Mitchell’s creative process and her development as a consummate musician.  It was published before her debilitating aneurysm in 2015, withdrawal from the public eye and subsequent revival since 2022, but that’s not the focus here anyway. If you love Joni, or the art of songwriting, this one is a must.

“Play On:  Now, Then and Fleetwood Mac,” Mick Fleetwood, 2014

The drummer, founder and mainstay of Fleetwood Mac throughout its multi-colored history wrote an earlier memoir in 1991, and much of it is recapped here, but with substantial new sections covering the next 20 years.  There hasn’t been too much new to the band’s story since then, so this is about as complete a story as you’ll find of Fleetwood Mac’s various phases (the Peter Green blues years, the Bob Welch-led middle years, and the soap-opera-ish years with Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks).

“Wild Tales: A Rock & Roll Life,” Graham Nash, 2013

Always the most level-headed of the raging egos in Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Nash writes thoughtfully and with panache, and a candor that’s almost eyebrow-raising at times.  As a guy who broke into the business with The Hollies back in 1963 and is still active 62 years later, he has a million great anecdotes and stories to share about his songs, his relationships and his passions.  Check it out.

“Rod:  The Autobiography,” Rod Stewart, 2012

I am not much of a fan of Stewart, but he has played a huge role in rock music over his five-decade ride through rock’s headiest years, from obscure vocalist with the Jeff Beck Group in 1968 to interpreter of the Great American Songbook in the 2010s.  Rod’s memoirs openly admit he was a lucky SOB, but the book also spends an inordinate amount of time on the tabloid-ish blonde-women-he-took-to-bed stuff instead of his musical contributions.  Is it because the former outweighs the latter?

“Reckless:  My Life as a Pretender,” Chrissie Hynde, 2015

This is one badass woman, thriving and surviving as a lady rocker at a time when it was almost exclusively men’s terrain.  Her memoirs tell a sometimes harrowing story about growing up in hardscrabble Akron, Ohio, fleeing to London during the birth of punk, and emerging as a victorious pioneer of New Wave in the early ’80s.  No doubt about it — Hynde has moxie.

“Delta Lady: A Memoir,” Rita Coolidge, 2016

My wife met Coolidge at an industry gathering several years ago and was captivated by her spirit, her guile and her still-impressive artistry.  Many rock fans most likely have no clue how connected she was, professionally and personally, to so many pivotal people in the ’70s and ’80s, and consequently, her memoir makes for illuminating reading.

“Who I Am,” Pete Townshend, 2012

The leader of The Who tends to take himself quite seriously, perhaps too much so, and that makes his autobiography kind of exhausting to absorb.  We’ve always known Townshend is a great writer, having contributed numerous cogent commentaries to Rolling Stone over the years, so the high quality of the narrative here comes as no surprise. He reveals with brutal candor pretty much all we’ll ever need to know about The Who’s stormy journey and his life in and out of the band.

“Clapton:  The Autobiography,” Eric Clapton, 2007

A rock idol and guitarist extraordinaire, Clapton led a life full of difficulties, many of them self-inflicted, and his memoir spells it all out in wrenching detail, simultaneously exposing himself as a man who spent years mostly incapable of maintaining anything close to a healthy personal relationship.  Too bad such a fine singer/songwriter and master interpreter of blues music suffered so much in his personal life…but they say that’s what makes the blues so authentic. Clapton has continued to record and perform in the 18 years since this memoir was published, but it will still give you a solid look at his career.

“It’s a Long Story:  My Life,” Willie Nelson, 2015

His first memoirs were published in 1988, and since then his persona has only grown in stature and notoriety.  Consider the title of his 2012 book, “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die:  Musings From the Road,” which pays perhaps too much attention to his pro-weed stance at the expense of his sizable impact on country (and pop) music over the last 40+ years.  And he is STILL around adding to his legacy at age 92. This one is well worth your time, trust me.

“Sweet Judy Blue Eyes: My Life in Music,” by Judy Collins, 2011

Folk chanteuse Judy Collins took us all off guard when she used her memoir, “Sweet Judy Blue Eyes,” to confess a lifelong battle with alcoholism that tormented her personal relationships as well as her recording career.  Her message:  “You don’t have to be a rock and roller to have substance problems.”  Hers is a fascinating story of a journey through the early folk years into the mid-’70s period of hedonistic pursuits that ultimately took their toll on her.

“Fortunate Son: My Life, My Music,” John Fogerty, 2015

The man who wrote, produced, arranged, sang and played guitars and keyboards on virtually every song Creedence Clearwater Revival ever recorded was also naive and too trusting when it came to business, and it had a profoundly negative impact on his life and career. Fogerty clearly never got over the betrayal of former manager Saul Zaentz, resulting in memoirs that spend far more space on accusations and recriminations than on the brilliant music that is his true legacy. Still, it’s an absorbing study of the highs and lows of one of America’s top bands of the 1968-1972 period.

“Chronicles, Volume One,” Bob Dylan, 2004 

Always the mystery man, Dylan chose to focus this 300-page tome on only three disparate points in his lengthy career: 1961, as he released his debut album; 1970, around the time of “New Morning”; and 1989, the year of his “Oh Mercy” LP. Readers are left salivating for more, much more, but so far, he hasn’t followed through on his plans for Volume Two (or Three). It’s hard to criticize him for choosing to write, record and tour at age 84 instead of completing his memoirs, but I sure would love to read about the many chapters of his life he has thus far ignored.

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A few more titles you might want to explore:

“Secrets of a Sparrow,” Diana Ross, 1993

“Cash,” Johnny Cash, 1997

“Long Time Gone:  The Autobiography of David Crosby,” David Crosby, 1988

“I Me Mine,” George Harrison 1979/2017

“Heaven and Hell:  My Life in the Eagles,” Don Felder, 2007

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I can’t conclude this list without bashing a few titles that I found pretty much unreadable:

Aerosmith vocalist Steven Tyler appropriately titled his excruciating memoirs “Does the Noise in My Head Bother You?”  (Answer:  Damn right it does, Steve, when it consists of incoherent babblings, brash boasts and baffling non sequiturs.)  

David Lee Roth of Van Halen evidently vomited his mindless ramblings into a tape recorder, had it transcribed, and slapped a title on it:  “Crazy From the Heat.”  (You’ve got that right, Dave…)

The critics falling over to tell themselves he’s boring

Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.”  — Elvis Costello

Some rock music artists (like Costello and others) have little use for rock critics.  Others try to maintain some sort of a love/hate relationship.  Either way, they must face the reality that art critics have probably been around for as long as there has been art to critique.

Until the 1960s or so, critics in newspapers and magazines tended to limit their subject matter to the fine arts, film and theater.  Pop and rock music was dismissed as fleeting and unworthy of such scrutiny.

rs-24166-22501_lgBeginning around the time The Beatles and Bob Dylan took the long-playing record album and turned it into an artistic statement, “rock journalism” became a thing, led by pioneering wordsmiths like Robert Christgau, Dave Marsh and Lester Bangs writing for Rolling Stone, The Village Voice, Crawdaddy and Creem.

When I was in high school in the early ‘70s, I started subscribing to Rolling Stone and always looked forward to reading the album reviews.  They gave us the lowdown on the latest releases of favorite artists and new and unfamiliar groups as well.  These reviews proved helpful to us (if not always accurately) in determining which records to add to our growing album collections.

As a journalism major at Syracuse University, I came to realize that the type of writing I enjoyed most was reviewing, or “critical writing,” as the course was titled in the curriculum.  On the first day of class, we learned Rule Number One:  Reviewers couldn’t merely say that we liked or disliked something.  We had to explain why.  We were assigned to analyze and evaluate movies, plays, TV shows and concerts, always giving reasons for our opinions.

images-69Of all the art forms we surveyed, I most enjoyed critiquing rock albums and concerts because I was passionate about the music and had a fair amount of knowledge about specific genres and recording artists.

I became a regular contributor to, and eventually an editor of, The Daily Orange, SU’s daily independent student newspaper.  I felt privileged to have access to this forum.  Just about everyone has an opinion, but in the pre-Internet age, very few had the chance to share those opinions with the public on a regular basis through the media.

Upon getting a position as a reporter/reviewer at a chain of community newspapers in Cleveland, I felt I had the dream job:  I was being paid to attend the concerts of dozens and dozens of major and minor artists and then to publish my observations about the performances.  Friends envied me for this, and I don’t blame them.

I quickly learned I had to develop a thick skin, because not everyone agreed with my opinions.  (Imagine that.)  Some readers were sufficiently annoyed with what I had written that they wrote angry letters to the editor or called me at the office to rant about how I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.  Usually these were rabid fans of some band that I had had the audacity to criticize.  Even if I had given what I felt was a positive review, the reader could not abide even one negative remark.  And on those occasions where I disliked the concert and wrote disparagingly about it or the artist in general, the gloves really came off.  “You’re a complete idiot, Hackett.  How can you call yourself an objective reviewer?” one letter said.

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A reader response, The Daily Orange, 1976

That always made me laugh.  A review is, by its very nature, not remotely objective.  It is a subjective commentary, merely one person’s opinion.  But because I had the forum to print my opinion and he didn’t, the reader found it unfair.  “Who does this guy think he is?” was the gist of his response.

I certainly understood his frustration.  I, too, still get a little irritated when a favorite artist of mine receives a scathing critique for a new release or appearance.  But having been on both sides of this equation over the years, I have learned some important truths about this intriguing “critical writing” profession.

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From Scene Magazine, 1990

Some say music critics are merely frustrated artists who don’t have the juice to write songs themselves, and their envy motivates them to take shots at those who do.  No doubt there’s some truth to that; some critics seem to either have a hidden agenda or develop a bias against (or for) certain bands or musical styles, doing the artists and the readers a disservice.  But if the critic’s motives are pure and honest, and he writes with expertise and a desire to search for the how and why, the reviews can be illuminating, well-reasoned and fair.

The primary definition of “criticism” in Webster’s is “the expression of disapproval of someone or something based on perceived faults or mistakes.”  And there you have it, the main reason why many people don’t like critics: They tear down, they find fault, they harp on the negative.  And it’s a fact that some critics seem to delight in writing what are known as “hatchet jobs,” which, depending on the clout and reach of the critic, can unjustifiably ruin artists’ careers, or at least their self-confidence.

However, the converse is also true.  If a review unendingly gushes compliments to the point where it sounds like it was written by the artist’s publicist, it lacks credibility, especially if the critic routinely writes this type of “puff piece.”  That’s why it’s interesting to note that some artists often claim to dislike overwhelmingly positive reviews nearly as much as the brutally negative ones.

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Sun Press clipping, and reader response. 1983.

The secondary definition of “criticism” is “the analysis and judgment of the merits and faults of an artistic work,” and that’s a more apt description of what a really great critic does.  He/she uses knowledge and expertise about the subject, seasons them with his/her own particular tastes and sensibilities, and renders a meaningful judgment about the work in question.  Typically, the most worthwhile reviews include a mix of pro and con, because in almost every case, even the very best stuff has weaknesses and even the worst dreck has some redeeming value.

It’s frowned upon these days to pass judgment on anyone or anything.  “Judge not, lest ye be judged,” and so forth.  But the key word here, I think, is meaningful.  If the judgment has depth and authority based on knowledge, it has more weight and credibility than a mere thumbs-up or thumbs-down rating.  The critic who offers perspective – weighing new songs against previous work, for instance, or why and how yesterday’s concert compares to shows from years past – is adding substantive discussion to the understanding of the artist’s message and milieu.

Artists know going in that their work is going to be put under the microscope and evaluated, sometimes in a manner they find decidedly unfair.  They can ignore it, they

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Scene magazine review and reader response, 1984

can complain bitterly, or they can have a sense of humor about it.  The title of this essay comes from a 1974 song called “Only Solitaire” written by Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull, who cleverly used actual phrases from critical reviews to poke fun at himself in the lyrics.  Critics who found Anderson’s animated stage persona tiresome saw their disdainful words thrown back at them in lyrics like: “Court-jesting, never-resting, he must be very cunning to assume an air of dignity, and bless us all with his oratory prowess, his lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air, and every night his act’s the same and so it must be all a game of chess he’s playing…”

There are those who have proposed doing away with music criticism altogether.  The late iconoclast Frank Zappa once said, “Most rock journalism is written by people who can’t write, interviewing people who can’t talk, for people who can’t read.”

I doubt that critical writing of the arts will ever go away.  Indeed, the explosion of social media outlets in recent years has made that once closely-held public forum available to anyone with a laptop or smartphone, so now “everyone’s a critic.”  Hell, pretty much anyone can start a blog…

I regret the trend in recent years away from the longer, thoughtful essays on artistic work and toward the quickie “capsule reviews” found in most publications.  These tend to be woefully superficial and almost pointless for those of us searching for reasons why we should consider investing in the album/song/concert/artist.

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Daily Orange critique, 1976

My advice would be to take any review only for what it is: one person’s opinion.  It would be wise to read multiple reviews, particularly those that go into greater depth, to get some sense of balance.  If you find you invariably agree with a particular critic’s reviews, you’ll probably end up giving more weight to his/her opinion (much like viewers who get their political news from sources that reinforce the views they already hold).

Or you might do with music reviews what my daughter does regarding movie reviews: She resists reading them at all, or at least not until after she’s seen the film.  Understandably, she grew weary of staying away from a movie because it was panned, only to see it later and totally enjoy it.

Perhaps that’s the best approach:  Judge for yourself.